


Keep Driving

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:15:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Driving and sex.</p>
<p>  <i>His fingers grazed and rubbed over the tough fabric of his jeans, every downward stroke driving him crazy. Dean swallowed back a groan, pressing his head against the leather seat. He let himself indulge a few more seconds of this; let Cas unbutton his jeans and slip his hand beneath his underwear.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Driving

A little smile upturned Cas' lips as he drove the Impala around a bend on the rural roads of Montana. Her steering wheel slipped beneath his fingers, easy as if he'd been born to manipulate tons of steel with his hands. He was the commander on a dead-black sea of pavement and free will, forging a destiny of his own choosing. Driving was as close he’d ever get to flying; as close as he’d ever get to feeling like he belonged in his human skin. These were the secrets Cas had whispered against his skin at night, hopeful in a way a candle would light up a dark room. The road had given Cas freedom his wings never afforded him. Driving had given his life a little more meaning.

Dean could relate to the secrets spared against skin. He sat in the passenger’s seat with closed eyes. The winter wind nipped at his face from the open window, the smell of pine trees filling his nose. For him, the open road was the sanity and structure a home with four walls couldn’t give him. It was his simplicity and purpose; tearing up miles of pavement toward a single destination. When he was driving, his life made sense. It was the only time his life had ever made sense.

How Cas ended up behind the driver's seat, then, was a wonder to both of them.

It started simply enough. Once Cas had fallen, he had this... insatiable hunger for anything and everything human—baseball games with hot dogs and popcorn, camping in the wilderness under a blanket of stars. Driving, too. Cas’ obsession with the Impala began with curiosity, as his obsessions always did. He would look her over, gliding his hand along her dark curves, mesmerized by her shine, by the sparkle in her chrome. Cas insisted on washing her one day, polished her up nice and good under Dean's careful instruction. Washing her turned to intensive study and an invasion of personal space as Dean hunched under her hood to change out a belt or tighten up a bolt. Cas would hand him tools, ask questions, then he'd take the lead, tuning her up like any old mechanic that'd slaved years under the hoods of old cars, covered miles deep in oil.

Cas learned quickly. Not only how to manipulate her, to fix her when she stuttered, soothe her when she groaned with old age—but how to manipulate _him_ , too. Cas flirted with him by changing her oil; seduced and courted him by changing out her battery or rubbing her down with soapy suds. And when Cas asked for her hand in marriage—

"Dean. Will you teach me how to drive?"

—he surprisingly hesitated, then let him down easy. Cas didn't take no for an answer. An eager blowjob and rough sex convinced him to let Cas sit in the driver's seat, ignition off. But that wasn't good enough. Over a week, Cas whittled him down with pie and sex and that thing he did with his tongue that Dean loved so much—

That thing with his tongue... Dean shifted in the passenger seat to hide a boner. Cas flashed him a grin, as if he knew.

They stopped at a local diner and ate apple pie with whipped cream before starting on the road again. A big nasty nest of vampires down in Utah, Sam said. He'd meet them there, Kevin in tow—their little hunter-in-training. The Impala growled down the highway and the trees whipped by outside the window. Dean fidgeted as Cas took the curve in the road a little too quickly, making his coffee wobble and leap from the side of the cup. 

"Would you take it easy?" Dean hissed, nursing a burn mark.

Cas didn't respond and kept his eyes on the winding road, on the yellow lines burned into the pavement. Cas didn't slow down either and took another turn just as hard. His coffee revolted. Dean narrowly missed being scalded.

"Slow down," Dean ordered.

Rebellion spoke loudly through the Impala's roar and the tiny red marker on the odometer. Cas didn't slow down but sped up instead, taking a turn so hard Dean had to cling to his coffee for dear life. 

"Cas," Dean growled. "You're going too fast."

"I'm not a child, Dean."

Defiance, authority—it was in the hard edge of his voice, tinting it black. Gravel-rough and sinful, enough to make him rock hard, enough to forgive Cas for taking yet another hard turn. The thrill of it rushed over him and his heart burned a hundred miles of pavement a minute. He should've strangled Cas then and there, should've told him to pull over, for both their sakes. He couldn't find the words. Almost didn't want to.

His silence, his spread legs and hard cock—an invitation for Cas' wandering hand to reach across the gap between them and touch. His fingers grazed and rubbed over the tough fabric of his jeans, every downward stroke driving him crazy. Dean swallowed back a groan, pressing his head against the leather seat. He let himself indulge a few more seconds of this; let Cas unbutton his jeans and slip his hand beneath his underwear. Cas palmed his cock, thumbed the wet head. Electricity shot down his body and he lifted his hips up instinctively. Cas smiled knowingly, almost triumphantly, as if he'd won some game only he was playing.

Dean growled low in his throat and grabbed his wrist, pulling it out of his pants and whipping it away. "Both hands on the wheel."

Cas shot him a glare, the kind of look he always had on his face before smiting someone back when he was an angel. Then he gunned it. The Impala zipped down the road, took a turn—and almost lost control. It skidded. The tires squealed. She left her blood as tire marks on the bruised pavement.

"Pull over!"

Cas clenched his jaw.

"Goddamnit, Cas. I said pull over!" 

Cas exhaled hard through his nose. The Impala slowed then finally came to a stop on the side of the road. As soon as Cas killed the ignition, Dean's world turned upside down. Cas grabbed his hot coffee, threw it out the opened window—

"What the hell, Cas!"

—and shut him up with a kiss so hard, so punishing that it stole his breath away. Dean bit his bottom lip in retaliation. Cas moaned under the duress. The pain added to the excitement, and soon, they were on each other, pawing and tearing at clothes. With some awkward maneuvering, minor aches and pains and apologies spilt over whispers, they pressed against one another, naked and sweating. Cas straddled him, kissing him, bruising him, and their tongues found each other, hot and wet and needy. A slave to his passion, Dean mapped every inch of Cas' body with his fingers, touching, grabbing, drunk on acres of soft skin. Every plane of muscle, every rise and dip of bone—Dean mouthed Cas' collarbone, bumped fingertips over ribs and hipbones. He took in everything _Cas_ with a selfishness he never allowed himself. 

Cas let out his desperation, his impatience, with a groan. Sucked his own fingers, one by one, slipping them in and out of his mouth, and fucked himself on them. Dean caught one of his groans and swallowed it down, kissing him, and grabbed Cas' cock. The skin-on-skin contact, the rough handling... Cas arched his back and groaned; a beautiful sound, earthy and deep in the back of his throat. Animalistic, but entirely, perfectly _human_. Dean rubbed Cas' cock down and slipped it between his fingers, sucking on one of his nipples. He could barely concentrate. Not while Cas was fingering himself the way he was, needing this with every groan, with every single breath he took. Blue eyes black and blown wide with sex—

Dean almost lost it when Cas speared himself on his cock, rocking into him as hard and rough as he could. Cas could drive her for weeks on end if this was his reward; a wild stallion fucking him until he couldn't breathe, until his eyes rolled into the back of his head. The heat they made together, the way they moved like a well-oiled machine; every single one of their pieces fitting together in harmony. 

The pace turned frantic. With every upward thrust of Dean's hips, Cas met it equally with a hungry groan, like the jump-start sound of an engine. His sounds, the smell of him, his warmth—it built the foundation of something powerful, something meaningful. Something more than just sex and their shared love of old cars and oil. Whatever it was, whatever he truly felt for Cas, Dean pushed it aside, buried it deep and let it die beneath the crushing weight of another groan. He'd save it for another night spent curled in each other's arms, a time for secrets spilled against skin. Here and now, it overwhelmed him and he clung to Cas, holding him so tightly that Cas let out a strangled sigh against his ear. Cas searched for his lips and kissed him gently as if he knew, too. Knew that this wasn't about driving or cars, or sex. 

This was about _forever_.

Forever hit him like a ten-ton truck, crumbling the flimsy metal of his insides with an orgasm so powerful, so sudden that he let out a startled gasp. It destroyed him, leaving his bones liquid, his heart in pieces. Cas knit him back together again with peppered kisses along his brow, his cheekbones as if he were recreating a constellation of love and devotion on his skin. Together, they came down from their high, their hearts beating as one. 

"Next time," Dean said suddenly, breathless. "You pull over when I tell you to."

Cas huffed out a quiet laugh into the side of his neck. It sounded like heaven to him.

In rural Montana, on a back-water road in the middle of nowhere, they held onto each other until the sun set over the mountains and the world around them held no meaning.


End file.
